


Best Times of Your Life

by chockie



Series: Egotron Collection [3]
Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chockie/pseuds/chockie
Summary: Same deal as Nichijou and Trigger Happy-- a collection of one shots based on the high school AU.Bear in mind that these were mostly written circa 2013 (about 4 years ago), so if the quality isn't exactly fantastic...





	1. A Large Margherita, Please

**Author's Note:**

> “imagine person a and b are on their first date but person a is late and person b is nervous but person a turns up with something special”

He paced, hands clutching each other behind his back. Step, step, step, and turn. Rinse and repeat.

The time was passing, each minute closer to the end of Jon’s extension math class. What were they doing now? Calculus? 

 

Arin sighed and shook his head, glancing at the clock on the wall. 3 minutes to go. 

_Alright, Arin Hanson. You are the hardcore, resident BADASS of the school. You’ve hit on and been rejected by more intimidating jock assholes. So what’s the deal with this kid?_

 

He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, tilting his head down and looking down the empty hallway. The other students not in advanced math were either outside, back home, or in another advanced class. Summer school was a pain in the ass, for sure, and Arin didn’t know why he chose to do it. 

Or maybe he did. 

 

He took a deep breath, snuck a peek to the right. A signup sheet for a drama club. Geeky as all hell, but  _his_  name was on the list. First one, no less- Printed in his chicken scratch writing.  _Jon Jafari_. Arin sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans, his other hand scratching at the marks his collar had made on his neck. A minute of digging rewarded him with a rather blunt and short pencil, and he scrawled underneath Jon his name in a clear, slightly cursive print, tongue poking out the edge of his mouth as he made extra sure not to smudge Jon’s signature. 

 

Just as he looked up from the sheet and turned around again to watch the door, the bell rang. It came as more of a bringer of happiness to Arin than a shock, though, as he waited for the younger boy to step out. 

 

A minute. Two. Five. Even the nerdiest of the class had emptied out, and still, Jon was not there. 

_Is he still in the classroom?_  Arin laughed to himself.  _Of course he would be._  He took a deep breath and raised his head, an easy smile forming as he strode towards the math classroom, one hand in his pocket and the other pushing the door open. 

 

At the noise of the door, Jon and his math teacher turned. A curt nod, smoldering glare, and a brief exchange of “Mr. Hanson.” and “Mr. McBuckley.” later, Arin’s eyes met Jon’s. He saw confusion, but also some joy in those deep brown eyes of his and smiled wider. 

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take Jon here off your hands. My sincere apologies for any interruptions.” 

In one smooth swoop, Arin bundled all of Jon’s scattered stationery and books into the crook of one arm, grabbing Jon’s wrist with his other. Before his teacher could say anything more than a dumbfounded “Excuse me—?”, they were out of the room and into the slightly less bustling hallways of the school. 

 

“What was that all about, man?” Jon looked questioningly, his head tilted slightly to the side. 

Arin giggled quietly to himself.  _He looks like a puppy I just wanna snuggle forever, damn it._

“It’s more important than your calculus shit, dude. Trust me.”

“B-but I was-“

Arin’s face went serious and he stopped him with a finger on his lips. 

“Shshsh. Real talk, just trust me on this one.” 

A little bit visibly nervous, but tamed, Jon nodded. Arin closed his eyes, smiling again, and let his hand drop to his side. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to drama club.”

“D-drama club? But I thought  _you_  thought it was lame—”

“What did I tell you about trusting me on this one?”

“R-right…” 

 

Moments later, they arrived at the classroom. There were a few other students there, and a couple of girls, but Arin paid them no heed. He ran a hand through his tousled, shiny hair, and a wicked smile spread across his face as he clapped his hands together. 

“Let’s do this shit.”

 

…

 

An hour later, Arin and Jon left the classroom, the latter doubled over in laughter and struggling to walk. 

“Did you see her fucking  _face_? She was all like, oh my  _god_ , I’m so  _sorry_! and I was like all fake fucking crying and you were trying so hard not to crack up…” 

“Hahaha, oh man, yeah, that was crazy, dude!” 

 

As they left the school, Arin stopped his friend with a gentle touch on his wrist. The light of day was fast fading and stars were beginning to show. They had reached the broad peak of the hill that overlooked Jon’s house, and they sat down on a bench that happened to be placed perfectly on top. There was no conversation between them as they each took their own time to recover from the laughs, and their jovial moods calmed. Both sighed and Arin smiled nervously. 

“Jon?”

“Yeah, Arin?”

“I was thinking… we had such a kickass time today, we should hang out more.”

“Ya think? That would be pretty cool, dude.”

“Yeah, we could go over to my place, and play video games and stuff?”

“Really? A-Arin Hanson, resident badass of Greendale High, wants to hang out with  _me_?” Jon spluttered, somewhat incredulously. His face had gone hot and he looked nervous, almost as if he were wary that Arin was stringing him along. 

“What? Jon, I’m offended! Doubting me? That’s quite simply outrageous!” Arin said in a mock-posh tone, tutting and waving his finger at the slightly flustered young man. He was, however, unable to hide his growing grin from Jon, and broke out into laughter once again. Abruptly, though, he stopped, and turned to look at him with a real straight face. 

“Seriously, though, Jon. I mean… we could go out and have fucking dinner or something- I- I mean, if you  _want_  to and all.”

 

Jon looked away, and a look of thoughtful concentration crossed his face. A minute passed with nothing more exchanged between them- a minute that was incredibly worrying to Arin. 

And when that minute was over, Jon turned to face Arin slowly. He smiled slowly… and nodded. 

“Fuck yeah, that’ll be great!” The older boy burst out. He realized his mistake, and tried to cover up- “I- I mean, yeah, that’s cool, man, heheh,”- but Jon started to laugh. A clear, and genuine laugh, and with much relief, Arin joined him. 

“Of course. So… dinner, right? How about the pizza place downtown, street to the left? It’s classy and has the  _best_  pizza, not even kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure man, whatever the hell you wanna have.”

 

They were silent for another minute, then Jon stood up and stretched.

“I better be heading home. Thanks for walking me back, dude.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a problem. Meet up at the school entrance right after the bell goes? I can take you to my place, it’s really not far off.”

“Yeah, sure, haha. See you around, man.”

“Arin.”

“I know. See you around,  _Arin_.”

“See ya later… Jon.”

 

…

 

_Tick_. An imaginary clock was ticking away in Arin’s mind. Though it sounded more like a time bomb- probably the result of watching so many action movies- he tapped his foot nervously. Leaning against the school gates in his slapdash way, he once again watched the school empty, kids piling into buses or walking home in pairs, chatting and laughing. 

_Will we be like that?_  Arin wondered.  _Fuck, that’s some gay ass shit. But… I dunno…_

He sighed and continued to scan the school grounds for his friend. Not soon after, a figure, laden by various books and a bag that looked like it was full of rocks, began making his way to him. 

 

“You’re late, bucko.”

“Y-yeah, well, I figured if I was skipping advanced math today, I might as well just stop by and grab some extra make up work, heh…”

“Jesus fucking christ, dude. Let me help you with some of that.”

“Th-thanks…” 

Jon wiped the sweat off his forehead and smiled wanly at the taller punk kid before him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware Arin was fairly attractive before, but it was only now he properly admired his new friend’s relatively slender body (compared to his, at any rate) complimented further by dark skinny jeans and a tight fitting tshirt with a rude slogan on it. He felt his face flush, though, when Arin turned around with an armful of books and his eyes traced his back to his… lower back. Quickly, and blushing hotly, he looked down to the pavement. Looking up again, though, he saw Arin was already a few meters away. 

“Hey, wait up, dude!” 

“How about  _you_  hurry up?”

“Not easy for me to, heh, run…” 

As Jon loped up to Arin’s side, Arin began to walk faster. Jon tried to keep up, but he only walked ever faster, until it developed into a full blown run. To Jon’s credit, he had never been naturally a great runner, but to his relief they soon reached Arin’s house. 

A modern build, he shouldered most of the books he was carrying into one arm, and used his free hand to punch in a code. The door unlocked, and with a swift kick from Arin, it opened. Jon marveled at it all, and wandered slightly dazedly through the doorway. 

“N-nice setup you got here, man…”

“Yeah, yeah. Just dump your stuff over here.”

Arin threw the books into a corner, and sauntered into the kitchen, whistling a tune that Jon recognized. 

“Is that, um, Megaman?” Jon asked while throwing the rest of his stuff into the pile. 

“Yeah dude, Megaman X’s always been my favorite.” Arin came back out of the kitchen holding a bowl of Cheetos. “Want some?”

“Oh, um, yeah, sure. Megaman X’s always been  _my_  favorite too!”

“Heh, that’s cool.”

 

Arin booted up his console and they settled down, maybe a little close but definitely comfortable, together. 

 

…

 

“Hey, listen, Arin?”

“Yeah, what’s up, man?

“I-I gotta shower… I mean, we’re going to a pretty fancy place, yaknow?”

“O-oh, really? Maybe I should, too?”

“Haha, yeah, um, sure man. I don’t mind either way, heheh…”

“I fucking stink anyway, so I might as well.”

“No you don’t! You smell pretty dang… alright. I mean, just, yeah. Um. Whatever you feel like, dude.”

 

They exchanged their goodbyes and Jon left. Arin lifted his arm and took a deep long whiff, only to be rewarded with whatever that comes with hours of nonstop video games. 

“Jeez, I really do stink. And better to pretty myself up for… for Jon and all, it  _is_  fancy and shit.” he instructed himself. 

 

…

 

The pattering of the rain was deafening to Jon, it seemed, under the bus stop. But that didn’t really bother him. His mid was elsewhere, thinking about Arin. Arin and him, actually. 

_Is this a-… a date? Jeez, I hope I didn’t overdo it…_

Jon looked nervously at his smart casual attire, a collared button down dark grey shirt, and some long trousers, his usual sneakers muddied from the rain to top it all off. A whiff of his dad’s cologne, and he was set to go. He shuffled his feet nervously and held his extra jacket in his arms, keeping his eyes peeled for the bus to the store. 

 

After doing a little bit of exploring of his own, Arin was already at the pizza place.  _Christ, Jon wasn’t fucking kidding when he said it was a fancy place. I’m glad I dressed smart, for once. Hopefully… hopefully it’ll be worth it._ Again, he looked down and admired his choice of clothing. A tight black top (not entirely dissimilar to the one he wore earlier, only with sleeves) with his skinny jeans. What stood out were his accessories- starring not only the usual lip piercing, he had decided to wear his studded wristbands and an earring. 

 

He made his way into the restaurant, the wonderful smell of pizza baking wafting towards him, a soft jingle from the bell on the door, the quiet murmuring of the other patrons and the dim candlelighting hit him and he smiled.  _He definitely wants the D. Or do I want his?_  Arin laughed quietly to himself and pulled up an empty seat at a table for two.  _He is pretty damn cute, though…_

 

But as time passed and the clock stretched on, he started to get a bit worried. He would never have thought someone like Jon would have stood him up, but the facts were starting to show and he started to fidget nervously. A habit that he had dropped some time ago began to resurface as Arin became increasingly nervous- he started twisting his wristbands, leaving some small red marks on his skin. They wouldn’t last, but the slight sting put his mind off Jon’s lateness. 

 

Jon was… interested, in Arin. He was very much sure of that.

_So why won’t he show, god damn it?_  Arin thought angrily.  _Is he trying to play hard-to-get? Is he actually a tease? Maybe he doesn’t really… Doesn’t really care for me…?_

 

It was a full half hour of Arin waiting not very patiently after he had arrived when Jon finally arrived on the scene. Arin had started to grow  _fairly_  mad, but by the time a very wet haired Jon sat down, shook his hair out like a dog and smiled sheepishly at him, he just broke down and instantly forgave him in his mind, smiling back. 

 

“I hope I’m not too late, eheh… Traffic and such, I couldn’t get any buses until like, 20 minutes ago. I’m really sorry I’m late, Arin.”

“20 minutes? But it only takes like, 10 to get here from your place!” 

So Arin had forgiven Jon- but it didn’t make him any less frustrated about how long he had waited. 

“Y-yeah, well…”

“What did you fucking do, man? That wasn’t cool…”

Arin’s voice grew quiet. It almost cracked, but he managed to trail off before it happened. He was genuinely hurt, but he didn’t want Jon to see. Guilt  _was_ , after all, quite the powerful feeling. One he knew all too well, and he felt it was his responsibility not to let someone like Jon experience it. 

 

“I-… Arin, I got this for you. I knew I had to get you  _something_ , and after some hunting I managed to um, ‘find’ this.”

 

Quickly, Jon’s hands flashed from behind his back and promptly dropped a small Megaman plush on the table. He looked away embarrassed, redness spreading across his cheeks, and Arin simply stared. 

 

“You… You got this for me?”

“W-well, yeah. I mean, I figured you would like it. You…  _do_  like it, right?”

Jon looked hopefully up at him. He, in return, looked astounded back. 

“Like it? Bro, it’s fucking adorable!”

“I- um, you really think so?”

 

A small smile appeared on Jon’s face, hope in his eyes. 

 

“I was scared you wouldn’t like it, but in the end I guess I decided to take a risk, heheh… I’m really glad you like it, Arin.”

“I’m glad I like it too- mostly ‘cuz it excuses you from being so damn  _late_!” Arin joked. 

“I thought we were over this already! There was traffic, I swear to god!” 

“Oh yeah,  _‘traffic’_! What kind of traffic, the kind your fat ass caused?”

“Oh wow, that was too far!  _Too far_ _!”_

“You know what else is too far? My house- do you have  _any_  idea how long it fucking took me to get here?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who didn’t get a present for  _me_!”

 

Their peace restored, their friendly banter resumed and they whiled away the evening with lots of laughter, soda, and a large margherita pizza.


	2. Prom Night

Tall, dark, handsome. Mysterious, dangerous, naughty. Edgy, arrogant,  _stupid._

But they were just words, stupid words, that he could let slide off his skin because he just didn’t give a fuck. About anyone. Not even his stupid family, his stupid mother who didn’t know the first thing about him, or his absentee father, who didn’t care about him either.  _Must run in the family_. Arin thought dryly to himself.  _Not giving a fuck. Ever._

 _  
_He rolled his eyes and blew his hair out of his eyes, the lengthy bangs that swept over his forehead and framed the sides of his face looking shinier than usual.

“I don’t even know why I’m going to prom.” Arin looked up. Studied his own face in the mirror.  _You’re scowling…_ An imaginary voice. Someone who looked at him always with concern or-… Or love. He hoped that was what it was.  _Don’t do that. It makes it look like you’re upset with me…_ That beautiful boy. The voice shaped itself and grew familiar in his mind.  _I don’t like it when you’re upset with me, Arin! Please d-don’t…_ He felt his own cheeks flush- and he didn’t notice how obvious it was until he saw it on his own face in the mirror.

“Ugh. So lame.” Arin shook his head like a wet dog, trying to shake away his daydream, his carefully styled hair coming apart again.

“Fuck.” He sighed and picked up his comb again.

*

Jon straightened his tie in the backseat of his mother’s modest Ford Fiesta and checked his hair in the rearview mirror.

“You okay there, honey?”, his mother turned to look at him, one hand on the wheel. “Why so nervous?”

“I… uh… I just want to look good tonight, that’s all.” Jon could do nothing to hide the light color growing in his cheeks and he looked out the window pointedly, focusing on the passing streetlights that were a blur instead of his own reflection.

“I didn’t know you had a date!” Jon’s mom chuckled and smiled not unkindly at him.

“Is she cute?”

“Mom! I don’t have a date…”

“Then why are you looking so nervous? Jon, sweetie, you can’t hide this kind of thing from me, okay? I’m your  _mom_ , for god’s sake. Don’t worry about it.”

"I’m just meeting a  _friend_ , mom… Don’t get in a twist over it, it’s nothing…”

"A friend, right. What’s her name?”

“He’s not a  _she,_ okay?” Jon huffed, crossed his arms and pouted. “Can we stop talking about this?”

"Oh my, a boy, hmm? Is  _he_ cute?”

"Oh my god, just- just- shut  _up_ , mom!”

"By the way, your tie’s crooked again, honey.”

The “honey” in question said nothing, straightening his tie in stoic silence.

Not soon after, they pulled up a couple of blocks away from the school, as per Jon’s request. He didn’t want to take any chances, especially if  _he_  was going to be there, and the last thing he wanted to do was have  _him_  see him doing something as lame as getting his mom to take him to the dangass prom. He leaned towards his mother to say goodbye, but before he got off the car, his mother grabbed him by his cheeks and looked into his eyes.

“Listen to me, Jonathan Jafari. It’ll be okay. Just be yourself and  _enjoy_ yourself, and everything will go swell. I promise. That’s all. Now go have fun!” She smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Uh… s-sure, whatever you say… Bye, mom.” He turned and stepped out of the car thinking to himself,  _I just wish it were that simple, mom_.

As the car pulled away (and a distant “ _say hello to your new ‘friend’ for meeee,”_ from his mom, again, which he paid no heed) he mentally gave himself a shakedown, swallowed, and started making his way to the school. His steps started out confident strides, but slowed and grew smaller as he progressively got more and more nervous the closer he got to the school (and the louder the sounds of party music became).  _It’ll be fine, maybe Arin won’t even be there, you can dance with a pretty girl and go home smiling, no problem!_

Even the voice in his head had a tremor in it, because Arin had promised he would be there for Jon. Just as friends, of course. Just as “prom buds”, because he didn’t want to be alone, and that was what friends did for each other, right? He swallowed the saliva that seemed to be accumulating a lot faster than usual and a bead of sweat began to form down the bridge of his nose. With a calloused finger, he squashed it and wiped it on his jacket.

He had dressed for the occasion, and although he didn’t have much formalwear in his closet he had tried his best to look presentable. A fitted jacket that managed to make the best out of his figure, a dark grey button down dress shirt, slick suit pants that had a neat sheen to them that he had borrowed from his father, and a pair of classy black shoes. Of course, he had taken his hat but had kept it hidden in his bag. He didn’t think he would wear it, but it was always good to keep just in case with another change of clothes. Arin had said that they  _might_ have a sleepover afterwards, and he hoped with all his pounding heart that the plans wouldn’t fall through. He kept walking with his eyes glued to the pavement lit by the streetlights, and almost tripped over his own feet when after looking up to the sound of a car door slamming he saw Arin-  _his_ Arin- get out of a (classy looking) car himself not a block away from where he had, wave to whoever was driving, and started walking.

In the combination of the partial moonlight (it was a bit cloudy that night) and the streetlamps, the punk boy looked fantastic to Jon. He had chosen crystal studs instead of his usual black, and the light sparkled brightly off all of them, rings too. He was fitted in a sleek buttonup shirt- not something he wore very often, if Jon had even seen him wear something like that before- and, oh god,  _oh GOD, oh DEAR SWEET MERCIFUL GOD,_  he was quite sure he spotted a dark red tie. Of course, he was wearing his skinny jeans, but he somehow made it look like a somewhat almost-formal smart casual, which, in Jon’s opinion, fitted Arin perfectly.  _  
_

Jon’s shuffle quickly grew to a lope (as fast as he could go in what he was wearing, at any rate- tuxes generally weren’t tailored to be easy to run in) as he covered the short distance between him and his prom partner-to-be-but-just-guy-friends just before he entered school grounds.

“H-hey, Arin, wait up!” He huffed and stopped next to him, resting his palms on his knees as he doubled over.

“Hey, ‘sup! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so late! You’re not the kind…” Arin laughed, but he cut it off when he noticed Jon still doubled over wheezing.

“Uh, you okay? Man?”

Jon looked up to face his friend and smiled wanly.

“I’ll be alright.”

Arin smiled back and offered a hand. “Let’s go in together. You  _are_  my ‘prom date’, aren’t you?” His smile turned into a grin and Jon mock punched his shoulder, both of them laughing. Jon kept his… other thoughts to himself. With Jon’s slightly damp fingers gently held by Arin’s, they turned back towards the silhouette of the school ahead of them, edges illuminated by the strobe lights in the court where the party was. They opened the doors together and strode in as one.

It seemed like the party slowed down to a halt as everybody turned around to face the two. Most eyes were trained on their hands.

Arin raised an eyebrow and grinned wryly. He raised his free hand (the right arm that had been before tucked halfway into the loop in his jeans) and flapped his palm at the wide-eyed onlookers.

“What? Haven’t you all seen prom bros before?” Someone in the back crowd started chuckling and before long, the rest were back to the normal chatter. Jon breathed out a sigh of relief, something he thought nobody but himself could possibly have heard. He realized otherwise when he felt a comforting squeeze from his partner and snuck a peek at him, the two of them sharing a tender moment of eye contact. Arin’s sideways glance softened (although he hoped that Jon didn’t notice the well of affection in it) and his wry smile from before became a genuine grin as he trotted to the food bar, dragging Jon along with him. The crowd parted and the mutterings and whisperings that he just  _knew_ was about them were silenced as they passed each spectator by. If there was one thing in the world that he wouldn’t care about, though, it would be the rumors that he could feel already attaching themselves onto his reputation about being “in gay cahoots with his new buddy”. This was a relation-  _friendship_ \- he would let nothing get in the way of. A new, even more determined briskness evolved in his trot. It didn’t take long for them to reach the table, cheap pizzas lining the clothed surface. At the very end, there was a smaller table discreetly hidden in the shadows of some conveniently potted plants. The two of them made their way over to it and found a bountiful treasure trove of desserts, stacked precariously on top of each other given the space (or lack thereof) of the end table. Jon looked at his friend and stared in amazement.

“How did you know this was here?”

“The teachers, and even more especially, the organizers of the fucking prom, all have huge sweet tooths.”

“Sweet teeth?”

“Sure, although that sounds kinda stupid, but I guess you’re the smart kid for a reason, eh?”

Arin chuckled and heaped generous helpings of cheesecake, two bowls of creme brûlée, vanilla and mint chocolate soufflé and multicolored macaroons onto the plate he had grabbed on their way. With the diabetes-inducing “meal” balanced delicately on the flat of his palm, he gingerly picked up a pair of small dessert spoons and handed them to Jon.

“W-wait,” Jon began, his mind strongly disagreeing with the mouthwatering sugary badness but the growing line of drool speaking the contrary.

Arin looked at him sideways, a macaroon stuffed between his lips. He looked surprised.

The muffled “hmm?” that Jon got in response questioned him. The boy snapped down the snack, chewed, swallowed with a smile and licked his lips. “What seems to be the problem, Jonno?”

The troubled teen in question glared disparagingly at Arin and muttered, “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“No dice, Jon my man. I call you whatever I want.”

“Ugh, fine, whatever dude. Can we just find someplace quiet to put this junk down? I want to talk.”

It was impossible for the taller boy to ignore the serious fire in the other’s eyes, so they chose the most secluded wall possible, at the far end of the dance hall. Since most of the partygoers were clustered at the center, Jon hoped that they would have the rest of the night mostly to themselves. Arin steadied the plate still with the desserts stacked up in plenty and backed up against the wall, sliding slowly down until his butt hit the ground. Jon sat down cross legged next to him and together, they started working through the creme brûlées. * The dancing had died down. The music had quieted and slowed and the party guests had thinned out, save for a few stragglers- hardcore partiers who were still dancing (albeit a bit weakly) scattered the floor. It had been a fun 5, 6 hours of laughing, joking, eating, and both of them were stuffed and exhausted themselves. “So…,” Arin sighed contentedly as he patted his stomach.

“What  _did_  you even want to talk to me about anyway?”

Jon looked puzzled at his friend.

"What do you mean? You talkin’ about the story I was gonna tell before you interrupted me and got more-”

“No, I was talking about how before all of that, you were wanting to tell me something and it seemed pretty serious but you never brought it up again.”

Jon smiled faintly, softly, at the concern on his friend’s face.

“Oh, yeah.”

The boy folded his jacket and put it on his lap, groaning as he scooted over to sit cross legged in front of Arin, the two of them eye to eye.

“Arin, I was thinking.”

“Nothing else to be expected of wonder boy Smarty McSmartpants.” Arin quipped, looking hopefully at him, hoping that faint smile from earlier would return and become that wonderful laugh of his.

“No, honestly. Real talk, man.” There was a little bit of a smile there, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that said ‘I’m laughing at your jokes,’ it said something else. Something  _more_.

“We’ve been going out for ages… And- and we might not be an open… an o-open-…” Jon felt his lips go dry.

“An open relationship?” Arin suggested gently. He placed his hand on one of Jon’s upturned palms on the floor and picked it up.

“I’m ready, Jon.”

“You never mentioned it or anything so- so I thought you were like- So I thought I—,”

He grew flustered. A heatwave on his face, culminating on his cheeks and making them rosy red even under the blacklight and strobe lights from the dying party. Jon kept stammering, kept trying to force out some kind of sentiment to express his gratitude but his stuttering was silenced by a macaroon stuffed between his lips. Arin pressed a finger on it.

“Eat it. Chew. Swallow.”

The blushing boy obliged (he had no other choice anyway) and before he could say a word Arin’s lips were on his and they might have been on dates before and kissed a little but never anything like this, never in public and he could once again feel the eyes of the remaining guests on the dance floor on them but this time he didn’t care because- He broke away from Arin’s kiss an for a second he looked sad and disappointed but Jon faced their small audience and screamed his feelings and the passion of their kiss and his  _love_ -

“I LOVE YOU!”

Jon sat up straighter, leaned over, grabbed Arin’s tie, yanked it towards him, bringing his body with it and he brought his face close to Arin’s and then he moved to his ear and just breathed for a while, just let him feel Jon’s ragged, raw but cool breath tickle his ear and then he whispered into it– “ _i want you and i need you and you’re my everything thank you for everything i love you”_ –and made sure the words snaked and tickled and wormed down into him so Arin would understand that they needed to go further and Jon was so happy he agreed and he could feel a tear working its way out of the corner of his tightly shut eyes as he kissed Arin again and again.

And the music stopped and he stopped and Jon stood up (only Arin could see his legs shaking and the nervousness in his face) and he offered a hand to his best friend and his- his-

his  _boyfriend_  and pulled him up so they were both standing on the dance floor and in the silence of everybody watching and the music that stopped he asked.

He asked,”Arin, will you have this dance with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crack ending: and the dj started playing cee lo green and arin grinned like a manic and kissed jon frantically because cee lo green made him do it


	3. from here on out i will write one drabble every two days, promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon: jon is a blogger and fanfic writer trash when he's not being a nerd and doing work

it’s 3:25am i woke up at 2:30 to do my work and i have written 3 sentences so from now i  _promise_  i will write a drabble every two days, even if i have the most work ever

With a tired smile to himself, Jon clicked “post”. Who would have known that being such a stupid fan of some guys in a band would have thrown him off doing his own work? 

He picked up his pen and put it to paper, turning up the music he was listening to up a notch. 

 _December 3rd. Compiling the different parts of the report was challenging for me, because_ …

He stopped immediately. Why  _had_ it been difficult for him? Was it even difficult at all? He couldn’t remember. December was two-  _three_ , months ago, after all. The boy sighed and moved the pen nib to the beginning of the entry with the intent to cross it out when he was interrupted by ringing from his computer. 

_A call? At 3am?_

The contact was none other than Arin Hanson. He had saved it as something else, though- something a bit more obvious about his ‘feelings’ for him. Not that Arin would ever know or figure it out, but any kind of expression of his secret, um, admiration for him, was a relief. 

Unknowingly, he smiled a little bit as he clicked the green “Answer Call” button and heard his friend sigh. 

“What are you doing, Arin?”

“Nothing. Listening to you, now.”

“Ha. I mean, why were you listening- I  _mean_ , why are you up?”

“I got caught up watching too many videos. One thing lead to another, you know how it goes.”

“Haha… Yeah. I should probably get back to work, though, that’s why I’m even up in the first-”

“And I was whacking off but I kept edging for too long so I guess I haven’t been able to just cum for like, fucking, two hours.”

Jon could muster up nothing but silence, his face hot. He struggled to keep a straight face, even if it wasn’t a video call and Arin couldn’t see him. 

“Just screwin’ with ya, dude." 

Ah, yes. Of course. He laughed nervously. 

"So, like… W-work, huh? You cramming your reflections and stuff too?” Jon asked, knowing that Arin wasn’t, nor would ever, but he had to say something. 

“Ye-e-ah, you could say that, I guess.” Jon was about to respond, but he felt the words die in his throat as he suddenly felt  _that_  voice, Arin’s special secret rich and smooth voice up close to his microphone whisper… something. He wasn’t listening to what was being said at all, he just wanted to lose himself in the soft sounds of his voice forever and ever-

“Hey, Jon, you there?”

“O-oh. Yeah, hey Arin. Listen, I’ve got to, uh, just- I’ve got to get back to doing this. I’m like, two months behind, man. Please understand.” Jon reached around to his back and pulled his hood up in embarrassment. 

“Right… You’re sure you’re not going to rub one out because of how hot and sexy my voice is? Hmm? You don’t think my dirty talking is totally-”

Trembling, he hung up the call. 

_He doesn’t know, he’ll never know, but I can’t deal with the way he’s acting like this. I just want to write my fanfiction in peace._


	4. i can’t believe i lost all my stupid fanfiction

“Two thousand words?!" 

The scruffy looking boy stomped around the room in circles, much to the amusement of the host- Arin Hanson, Best Bro Forever of Jon Jafari.

He couldn’t even pretend to understand the obsession Jon had with his favorite band, NSP- Jon liked to call himself "the dark side of the fandom” and though Arin really couldn’t see Jon as  _anything_  but dark, he was the best friend and had a right to humor him.

“I lost two thou-fuckin’-sand words!" 

The cuss word was unexpected- Jon tended to be pretty vanilla for a teenager’s standards, and the unfamiliar words were a bit strange to be hearing from Jon, but Arin paid it no heed. 

"Two thousand words of what, Jon?” He asked lazily, twisting the studded band around his wrist. 

“My fanfiction! Duh!”

“You write fanfiction?”

“Dude, yeah. Have you seen the homoerotic undertones, overtones, subtext, baritones-”

“Dude?”

A wry smile stretched across the punk boy’s face.

“That’s fuckin’ gay. You’re fuckin’ gay, man.”

He didn’t really mean it. Of course, he knew he was actually kind of gay himself, so how  _could_ he mean it? But he said it because he knew the rise he’d get out of him would be priceless, hilarious, and fucking adorable. 

Arin watched the back of his friend’s trembling hunched shoulders turn slowly, a smoldering fury in his eyes that spelled out “justice must be served”. 

“Pity I don’t have the popcorn, this is great.” Arin giggled, and a heartbeat later dodged the blur of ranting that was Jon. 

“I’ll have you know that it’s not gay if they’re pretty much making it canon themselves, they take pictures of themselves being ridiculously gay and I just think it’s really dumb and cute and they  _ship themselves_ , okay, it’s not gay if it’s canon-”

How Jon didn’t run out of breath, Arin didn’t know, but anything was possible for a rabid fanboy. 

“I just think it’s cute, goddamn it!”

Curled up comfortably on the bed, he smiled again at the heaving, panting beast that Jon had become- the curse of the fanboy. He got off the bed, and sat on the rug next to him and hefted a hand onto his back. A solid thump, and his back was so warm. Warmer than he had expected.

At the contact, Jon collapsed, burying his face into folded arms.

“It’s just… I feel compelled to do it, you know?” He mumbled.

“There, there.” The hand Arin had intended to be a comforting, friendly pat on the back, became a more gentle stroking. 

“It’s totally cool to be gay, dude. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

He hadn’t, of course, come out to Jon, yet. It was a bit of a personal revelation to him, and he wanted to keep it to himself until he was sure of how he identified, but he couldn’t lie to himself, not to those puppy eyes looking up at him from under his tangled arms with a spark of childish anger.

“I told you! I’m. Not. G-" 

Arin swooped in and took the bait. 

It had to be bait, because he could feel Jon kissing back after a second, his tongue tentatively, hesitantly running over his own teeth and then he felt Jon sucking on his lower lip. It wasn’t Arin’s first kiss, nowhere near, but it was Arin’s first kiss with a boy, and he felt blood rushing to his pale cheeks. He opened one eye, just to see, and was met with Jon’s innocent face, his eyes closed yet so nervous, and he felt him shaking. 

_He’s scared too. This is probably his first kiss… outside of his fanfictions._

He couldn’t hold back a snigger and he twitched. The sensation of soft lips on his own (a boy’s!) was suddenly replaced with cool air, even colder in contrast to the warmth from before.

"Wh- why’d you stop?” Arin managed to get out between giggles that were growing in volume. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Jon looked genuinely upset, much to his chagrin.

“M-maybe. Heheh…” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Yeah? Who’s the gay one now, hmm?”

“Still you, Jon.”

“You just fucking kissed me, you shit!”

“Nah. That was  _all_ you, brother.”


	5. Whatever

The bell rang and jerked Jon awake. He felt a bit of sticky drool pooled on the table in the crook of his elbow and he winced. The second time today he had caught himself sleeping in class, and he only hoped the only reason the teacher hadn’t woken him up was because she was being merciful- maybe rewarding him for his hard work he had putting in lately? Whatever it was, he was thankful- exhausted from pulling two all-nighters in a row to complete twice that in graded assignments. Thank god school was out- a Thursday, to be sure, and not a Friday, the frazzled boy doubted he would be able to stomach much more of the nauseous tumbling through the hallways between classes and the blurry switching of focus that came with lack of sleep. Learning- something he was, in any other respect, quite naturally good at- was becoming difficult in his lethargic haze. 

He tried and failed to stifle a yawn as he absentmindedly reached for his backpack, only for his open hand to swipe and hit nothing but air. A groan of frustration rumbled out of him and his eyes began to slide half closed while he tried again to find similar results. Jon made a sound of annoyance and promptly sat up straight, the chair’s front two legs which had previously been slowly advancing higher off the ground suddenly making contact with the floor with a loud  _clack_. People, other students were packing up around him and the first students began to run out the door. The chatter was deafening, the laughter almost annoying, and their class’s infamous face of rebellion and punk tore between the desks from behind him, somehow shouldering Jon and almost knocking him clear out of his seat in the process. With bleary vision he watched the tall boy’s back stride out of the classroom, the black pack’s straps slung over one shoulder bouncing loosely around him.  _Arin_  did not have the time to do something as ‘trivial’ as take a moment to even turn around and apologize. 

 _Tch_. His other hand reached backwards and finally found what it was looking for, closing around the loop of the bag that seemed to have somehow skidded a bit farther back than where he had remembered putting carefully next to his desk.  _Fuckin’ asshole. First he spends the whole of first period just kicking the back of my chair, then he’s fucking whispering some stupid shit to that skank, PLUS ignoring me all day and straight up not sitting with me at lunch in the caf like, what the fuck, man? I thought we were sorta almost best friends? Maybe. But I just–_

He sighed and tried to clear the angry thoughts in his mind. The classroom had been empty for a while, the only person left besides himself was the teacher, who he now noticed was watching him with a look of pity. 

“Hey, Jon.” There was a strange look in her eye, that told him  _something_  was up and he was being kept out of the loop, but he shook it off. 

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay? We still want you alive and kicking for actual classes.” She laughed quietly at her own joke, shuffling papers, placing them in a folder and snapping the binder’s locks shut. “Go home and get some rest today. Please.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Thanks, Mrs. Parsons. Have a good day.” Somewhere in his mind he was a bit curious why he spoke a parting greeting with such formality, but he chalked it up to the shit he had been putting up with all day and slung his own bag over his shoulders, finally standing up at his desk. He bowed forward, just a little, and stepped sideways, pushing in his chair and walked out. His feet dragged a little, and his gaze drooped, but the day- or the school day, in any case- was nigh end, and he had to keep telling himself that he should be grateful.

_I mean, it’s not like I have any_ _thing else to be grateful for anyway._

_***_

Jon fumbled with his key and dropped it twice. Fitting it into the lock was also a pain in the ass, taking multiple tries to actually get the key to turn and the door a little too much jiggling to push open. As he stepped through the doorway, the wind caught the door and slammed it shut behind him. 

_Man, today’s just winding up to be the shittiest day, isn’t it?_

“I’m home.” Perhaps his mom might have cooked up something for him to remedy the product of today’s recipe of Shit Day, a very tired and hungry Jon. Lasgna? Donuts from the store, maybe? Fuckin’ instant noodles? He didn’t know, but he didn’t much care while kicking off his shoes, the images of the food in his mind showing that maybe the downwards curve of the day could tick upwards again. Maybe. 

His hopes were sadly crushed when he stepped onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. On the table- nothing. At the counters- nobody. On the fridge- a note, stuck up with a magnet that kept falling lopsided. 

“ _Grocery shopping. Back later. Take care. Mom.”_ _  
_

So they probably didn’t have anything for him to eat, no ice cream for him to drown his sorrows in. He checked the fridge anyway to see if there was anything, and his hypothesis was proven right. Jon heaved another sigh and turned up the volume of his music, dragging his bag up the stairs. Routine, routine. Why had he expected any different? Why would routine change just because he had a shitty day?

The answer was, of course, that it didn’t. Time changed for nobody, and Jon was no exception. His shoulder and arms didn’t hurt as much as they usually did though, so that was an upside. One for Jon, god knew how many for life. His bag seemed a bit lighter than it usually did, and seemed much easier to lug all the way to his room. Finally in a comfortable place, he shut and locked the door and collapsed onto his bed. Revelling in the coolness of the air con now blasting at him, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax for a few moments. 

Feeling newly reenergized, the sheen of sweat from the walk home now gone, he let his arm drop off the side of his bed and fumble blindly for his bag. Finding its target, he then rummaged inside it with the intent to pull out his laptop and surf a little, maybe write some fic– 

_Shit._

His laptop was not in his bag. Quickly thumbing through what was actually in it revealed that nothing in it was his. Clearly it had not been stolen, because why would a thief take all of his heavy textbooks as well? A desperate student lacking them for next year? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely. He must have taken the wrong bag, and someone else must have taken his. 

The grumpy look on his face returned, his eyebrows furrowing. Jon stood up and pulled his iPod out of his jacket pocket and thrust it roughly into the little slot in his speakers. A couple of even rougher presses to his home button and a quick tap to “play” and music began to blare out, reverberating off the walls and into Jon’s ear drums. He sat promptly on the rug, leaning his back against the side of his bed and drew his knees to his chest. How would he spend the rest of the night if not on the internet?

_I guess I could just… browse on the iPod, but then I wouldn’t be able to play music through the speakers. And just… Ugh, shit._

His eyes were drawn to the bag next to him, tossed callously onto the floor when he had first realized it was not his bag. A few of the notebooks inside- all the books inside were notebooks, none textbooks, he noticed- peaked out of the unzipped opening. He had to tear his gaze away.  _Jon, that’s not right. That’s somebody else’s property. You wouldn’t exactly be fucking over the moon if somebody flicked through your stuff, would you?_ He shook his head.  _Yeah, exactly. No. So don’t. Just listen to your music and… fucking sleep, or some shit. At least there’s another reason to be grateful there’s school tomorrow._

The voice in his head ceased, and he stuck his bottom lip out and blew the bangs out of his eyes. 

 _“A newborn deer runs through a field, a rainbow shines from heaven…_ ”

Oh shit, it was this song. 

For the first time in possibly the whole day, Jon cracked a smile. His anthem. Perhaps he may not have his laptop, but he certainly did have his mind and wits. 

And his imagination. 

A fantasy was nowhere as vivid as real images could be, but it was still nice to imagine him and Arin, cracking jokes just as his idols in the band singing were, only those jokes were parodying their real relationship. 

He imagined, anyway. 

“ _There would be no sadness… If we were super gay… Just unicorns and magic…"_

He found himself singing along, laughs beginning to sneak their way between lines and stanzas of the song. 

"If we were super gay!” Jon let his legs slide back out flat on the rug, one hand dropping to his side, the other resting on his chest and his eyes closed as he carried the note out. 

He thought of the all-too-intimate moments they may or may not have accidentally experienced together. He relived the one time they got to sleep in a tent together during that one camping trip, the time when he got to sleep over and Arin’s for the first time and when they totally no-homo danced together that one time in private… 

Arin’s hand snaking down his back like the girls did in the movies whlie slow music played. Arin’s face getting closer, too close to his, while they swayed side to side in time to the music. Arin’s lips slowly, softly touching his, and Arin’s tongue–

The song ended and jarred him out of his memory-turned-fantasy, to his disappointment. When the going was getting good, too…

He exhaled and again his eyes were drawn to the notebooks and he pulled one out. It was one of the school issued ones, the ones they handed out at the beginning of every year with the logo printed on it. It also looked very well used, some pages dog eared and others almost falling out. He gently tapped it on the floor a couple of times to push the errant sheafs back in place and began to absentmindedly flick through it. 

_Who else in our class has a bag that looks like mine anyway?_

Ticking off names as he mentally went through the seating plan of the classroom, systematically going from top to bottom, left to right, he counted five people in their class of twenty three. Two of them sat in his immediate circumference- Arin and the girl sitting diagonally to his left in front of him. 

The notebook was full of… surprisingly, not many notes. In the beginning of the book, there were a good few pages of detailed drawings, some anatomy sketches, (only one of which was a woman…) that he couldn’t help but blush a little at, considering what had been running through his mind not moments before. There were doodles of video game characters and other characters he couldn’t recognize. The turning of pages quickly stopped, though, when he saw a drawing of what looked almost uncannily like him. 

It wasn’t a realistic style, like some of the anatomy sketches or studies of faces that he had seen in the earlier pages. A cartoony exaggerated caricature, but one of him, he knew for sure. He was wearing a furry winter jacket in the drawing, one that he had only worn a couple of times to school months ago during the coldest days. It was quite distinct, what with very few dudes at their school wearing fur jackets, and the resemblance of the face and his and the build of the character and his own stockier one were all too similar. 

He stared at it with awe, his eyes drinking in his cartoon self smiling smugly back at him. 

After what seemed like hours, the shock seemed to fade away, but something caught his eye before he flicked the page again. Writing at the bottom of the page, scratchy and familiar-looking, and barely comprehensible, but he could make out a sentence.

“ _I think I love him._ ”

It must have been the handwriting that did it, because everything became clear to him at once. 

The last place he had seen that handwriting had been during a class group project, a long time ago. The chickenscratch style of it meant there was no way it could have been a girl’s- even a girl’s messy handwriting would be neater than that. 

Of the two people who had bags similar looking to his own, sitting in his immediate circumference, one was a girl, and one was Arin. 

He remembered now that when he first walked into the classroom at the beginning of the last period that he placed his bag to his right, next to his chair. If it had been pushed backwards over the course of the class, there was no way the girl sitting ahead to his left could have taken it, even if he hadn’t been sitting on the very edge of the classroom. 

No, the only option was his and Arin’s bags were swapped.

And Arin’s notebook– everything was clicking into place now, with a dreadful clarity– contained a drawing of him. And a sentence that he was still tracing slowly with his fingertip, that had shaken the entire world he had knew. 

The fantasy he had had seemed loomingly possible now, he thought randomly. 

With shaking hands, he turned the page. Both pages before him were covered in doodles of him. Most of them were him doing normal things, like laughing, smiling, cracking jokes (there was running commentary around most of the doodles, some that made him blush and his breath catch) and one in particular made his heart stop. A drawing of him vulnerable, doing the unmentionable…

_He th-thinks of me in that way?!_

Jon swallowed. 

_…T-too?_

The afternoon passed. His heart never stopped thumping, and through dinner he had a grin that his mother told him to suppress, at least while he was eating, so she didn’t have to look at him and see his half chewed food. 

Even considering the fact that he hadn’t slept in approximately 51 hours, he found himself with his eyes wide open in the darkness of his room at 3am, his heart still jumping with excitement. He traced shapes in the light filtering through his blinds, more of them than he’d like to admit resembling hearts. He knew if he did get any sleep that night, it would be fitful and fleeting, but it came eventually. 

They were full of dreams about Arin. 


	6. 38

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” One Arin Hanson, the only one like him in these parts, chuckled with a mischievous mirth that made him so irresistibly charming, bending down to pick up the various textbooks and notebooks and sheafs of paper now scattered in a circular explosion around the two boys in the emptying school hallway. 

It was odd, Jon thought, to have someone as intimidating as  _The_  Arin Hanson be, well… nice. He had expected something along the lines of, like, a slam into the lockers and a growly  ~~but kinda cool~~   _who do you think you are, you piece of shit?_  To this short nerdy scruffy kid, who was so clumsy to boot that he probably gave Arin a bruise somewhere– Gulping, his picking up of his work became even hastier. It seemed that his hands were finding it impossible to actually pick anything up at the worst possible time. Ever. 

_Oh god, what is he gonna think of me?! Jesus FUCK, whaaat the fuuu-_

And interrupting his thoughts as he stole a peek under the dark curls that obscured his vision at the undoubtedly handsome rugged boy, nay, closer to man than anyone in his grade he had ever seen, was Arin staring back. 

And oh, what a stare it was. For what felt like forever, as the cliche goes, he could feel himself get so lost in the depth of those dark pools with such intent and  _soft kindness that_  he almost lost control of himself, eyes rolling slightly and the attack on his dry lips renewed, the grip of his bite on his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. He felt the already-few papers slide between his fingers and gently wave to the floor at his feet. Their eye contact never broke, as Arin scooted closer towards him, as awkward as it was in their crouching positions, and without skipping a beat he picked up the few sheets Jon had dropped in one hand and the other somehow,  _somehow_ , naturally rest on Jon’s knee and he felt like he was going to just. Keel over and fuck off to heaven. 

“Did my stunning attractiveness just knock you out?” 

Arin smiled a wolfish grin, and his eyes never left Jon’s, and Jon could feel himself getting a little lightheaded again. Perhaps it would not be entirely unsuccessful if he  _did_  just so happen to ‘faint’ right into Arin’s shoulder and sneak a deep inhale of his hair…


End file.
